


Wonderful

by warbreaker



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, During Canon, Inexplicit Sex, Kissing, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Redemption, Spoilers, Velvet Room Attendant Akechi, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warbreaker/pseuds/warbreaker
Summary: Goro Akechi may have been knocked off of the path of righteousness at a young age, but the concept of righteousness itself never left him. Akira Kurusu is a walking, talking reminder of everything about himself that he tried to bury all those years ago.





	Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> _Well, I come home tired, and I come home late. Everybody wants me, so I give it away. I'm a wanted man. I'm a wanted man. I'm a wanted man.[I'm a wanted man.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAx-nvMgdXg)_
> 
> Story titled and inspired by the song "Wonderful" by Rob Thomas (which, lbr, is basically Akechi's theme song).

**Two Years Before Ruin**

 

Wakaba Isshiki was dead.

No matter how many times Akechi went over it in his head, it never made sense. It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. By all rights, it should've just been another spy job; Shido hadn't even ordered a psychotic breakdown scandal on her. All he'd had to do was infiltrate the Metaverse, talk to the Shadow, get the information, and get out. Simple.

Except, her Shadow wouldn't talk. It grew irritated, then violent. Akechi had to kill it — he didn't have a _choice_ , damn it. If he hadn't killed it, it would've killed him. At the time, he hadn't thought of it as being a big deal. He'd killed countless Shadows in the Metaverse before. Why would this one have been any different? It shouldn't have been.

It was.

The guilt was unbearable.

"This is a gift," Shido had said to him when he confessed to what had happened. "An _extraordinary_ gift. Sometimes people have to die in order to serve a greater good. Personally, I can think of no better way to root out the corruption and filth rotting at the heart of this society. The psychotic breakdowns and the scandals that follow are useful, but they're merely a band-aid over a stab wound. They always leave the door open to redemption, and the gullible public loves nothing more than a good comeback, underdog story. This is a permanent solution to a permanent problem. I'll have my men take care of everything. You did very well today."

 _You did very well today._ The words bounced around in Akechi's head, leaving a taste in his mouth so bitter that he almost wanted to laugh. In his short fifteen years of life, he'd never felt such a strange mixture of pride and disgust. He would be lying to himself if he tried to claim that it didn't feel good to be praised like that — to receive a full-throated endorsement and stamp of approval from the man who was biologically responsible for his existence and currently acted as his boss. Yet, it was for entirely the wrong reasons. The whole situation was fucked up and wrong, and Akechi had no way of compartmentalizing it all himself.

Wakaba Isshiki wasn't a corrupt politician. She was just a woman. A scientist. A mother. A _single mother_ , no less — but one that knew too much. She didn't deserve to die. Taking a heavy breath, Akechi couldn't help but think about the daughter that Wakaba's death left behind. Would she grow up as he had? Passed around from foster home to foster home, never knowing her father, missing her mother, and vowing revenge against the man responsible for her death?

This time, Akechi _did_ laugh. Cold. Mirthless. It echoed in the hollow of his throat and tasted like gasoline on the way out. There was no undoing what he'd done. He'd become the thing he hated most, and he'd created a new generation of broken, lonely children who'd had everything taken from them before they developed the ability to fight back.

He refused to be complicit in this. Damn his personal ambition, damn Shido, and damn all of Japan while he was at it. None of it mattered anymore. If murdering innocents was what he had to do to maintain order and exact revenge on his biological father, it wasn't worth it.

A cool breeze brushed across his face as he stepped to the edge of the roof. From here, up at the top of the high rise that housed Shido's office, there would be no hope for survival when he hit the bottom. In a way, suicide was its own revenge. Shido would be bereft of his fancy new weapon, his political career would go nowhere, and he would fall out of the public favor and into obscurity. It wasn't as glamorous as knocking him down personally would've been, but after today, Akechi had had quite enough of glamour.

He peered down over the edge, just beyond his toes, and was shocked to find that he felt nothing. There was no fear, no anxiety, no second-guessing — not even a passing sensation of vertigo. Not only did he not want to stop himself, he didn't _want_ to want to stop himself. His death wouldn't bring Wakaba Isshiki back, but it would save the life of any other person that Shido suddenly thought of as being too inconvenient to have around anymore.

And that was enough. It had to be.

Akechi closed his eyes and leaned forward until gravity took him. For a few blissful seconds, he was _free_.

Until he landed, far sooner and far harder than he expected. Whatever he hit was hard and smooth, and it knocked the air from his lungs and left him gasping and wheezing on the floor.

A man's chuckle filled the air, deep and almost sinister in its dark amusement.

"My, my," a familiar, raspy voice said. "How disappointing."

Struggling to move, and struggling even harder to breathe, Akechi gathered all of the strength he could muster and peered at his surroundings. Dim lighting. Blue curtains. Concrete floor. If he'd had the air in his lungs necessary to do so, Akechi would've cursed. There was no mistaking it: this was the nuclear fallout bunker described to him as the Velvet Room.

"You—" he hissed between gasping breaths. " _Why?_ "

"Show some respect, soldier!" Caroline scolded him. "Stand at attention in the presence of our Master!"

"You should offer a bit more gratitude to our Master for saving your life," Justine followed up. Her words were sweeter, but they stung just the same. "You would have surely died had he not intervened."

Inch by inch, Akechi forced himself to his knees, still fighting to suck in enough oxygen with every inhale. Head bowed, his hair hung in his face as he collected himself. His hands were shaking, and he could hear himself screaming inside his own head — feel himself beating against the walls of his skull with his fists, desperate for escape.

"I wanted to die," he croaked out breathlessly.

"You— what?" Caroline spat, shock and confusion clear in her voice. "You're not making any sense! Speak plainly, soldier! Or I'll string you up for insubordination!"

Finally finding his strength, he shouted back at her, " _I wanted to die!_ "

For the first time ever, Caroline seemed at a loss for words. She took a half-step back, mouth hanging agape as she wrestled with the meaning of what he'd just said. Akechi steadied both of his palms against the floor and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He was still trying to find his balance when Caroline recovered.

"What a stupid thing to say!" she said. "No one _wants_ to die."

"I do," he said, somewhat surprised at how small and pathetic his voice sounded.

"Girls," Igor interjected finally, "perhaps a better approach would be to ask _why_ he feels this way."

"Very well," Justine said. "What would drive you to dereliction of duty, soldier?"

"Dereliction of duty?" Akechi parroted back at her. He couldn't believe his ears. These people watched over him at all times, didn't they? Didn't they know what he'd done? "Is this a joke? I killed someone!"

Igor hummed thoughtfully and closed his eyes, though his cheshire grin never left his face. Caroline and Justine merely exchanged glances, seemingly confused by what the big deal was. The shaking in Akechi's hands never stopped, even as he balled them into fists. He felt ready to explode at a moment's notice; was he the only person left on the planet with a fucking moral compass?

"I see," Igor said. "The guilt eats at you, does it not?"

"Of course it does!" Akechi shot back.

"Casualties cannot be avoided in the crossfire of war," Justine said placidly.

"Sometimes you gotta crack a few eggs," Caroline agreed.

No. _No_. He wouldn't accept this. Akechi balked at the trio's words, suddenly at a loss for his own. _This_ was his divine providence — his destiny?

"Have I gone completely insane?" he shouted.

"Maybe you have," Caroline said with a slight shrug. "You _did_ just try to kill yourself a few minutes ago."

"I can't—" he started, still fuming, before Igor cut him off.

"The price that must be paid to maintain order can be steep indeed," the long-nosed man said, "but it seems a far better alternative should the world fall into Ruin. Wouldn't you agree?"

"To hell with the world!" Akechi spat. "I'm not a murderer!"

"How many more will die as a result of your inaction, soldier?" Justine asked.

He didn't have an answer for that. Akechi unclenched his fists and looked down at the floor, feeling hopelessly lost. This whole thing had sounded so good to him when he'd first awakened to his powers. Prevent Ruin, maintain order, and become a hero. He should've known it wouldn't be as simple as that.

"You sound just like him," he said coldly, raising his gaze towards Igor. "You sound just like Shido, and I can't think of anyone more corrupt and evil than him."

"A shared road that will fork eventually," Igor said.

"So I'm just meant to kill people until then?" Akechi asked, his voice shaky. "Wakaba Isshiki wasn't corrupt. She was just a scientist doing her job. She — she had a kid."

"We can't have people just snooping around in the Metaverse," Caroline scoffed.

"It would only advance the onset of Ruin," Justine added.

A pathetic sob escaped past Akechi's lips without his permission. He raised both hands to the sides of his face, pressing against his temples in a desperate attempt to hold back the tears. It just barely worked.

Too big. This was too big — too much for a god, or a demon, or whatever the hell Igor was — to ask of from a nobody like him. The weight on his shoulders was suffocating.

"I can't do this," he breathed out.

Igor chuckled darkly again. "You can."

"No," Akechi shook his head.

"The power of the wild card is not one granted lightly," Igor told him. "As such, I cannot allow your death until the objectives of your mission have been fulfilled."

"That's right!" Caroline chimed in. "Your power is special, so suck it up, soldier!"

"We are not the ones ordering you to kill," Justine said. There was a hint of sadness hidden in her voice. "The path you choose on your mission to maintain order is yours alone."

Something about her words rang true. The residents of the Velvet Room had _excused_ his murder, sure, but they hadn't given the order to continue. Shido would be the one to do that. It was always ever Shido. Now that the man had all of Wakaba Isshiki's research at his disposal, the abuse of the Metaverse wasn't going to stop, either. In the end, would Akechi's suicide really solve anything?

"If I don't do what Shido says," he said slowly as the realization dawned on him, "he'll just find someone else to do his dirty work for him."

"Your heart is set, then?" Igor asked.

Akechi slowly dropped his arms back down to his sides and took a deep breath. There was still a moral firestorm raging inside of him, and the tiny voice in the back of his head that he could only assume was his conscience was screaming at him to end this and beg Igor for death — but that wasn't justice. He did his best to choke down his emotions — to smother the incessant nagging of his own guilt — and gave Igor a weak nod.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

His heart was set, but not in the direction that Igor probably wanted. Akechi realized in that moment that it wouldn't be enough to quietly snuff out Shido's political career once his contact list stopped being useful. No, Akechi needed to _destroy_ Masayoshi Shido in the most outrageously public and humiliating way possible, and then steal his life from him when it all came crashing down. It would be the only thing that would keep Akechi's own conscience satisfied and at bay.

"Very well," Igor responded. "I will return you safely to reality. The road before you will take many unexpected turns, Arbiter. I am eager to see how you choose to handle them all."

 

* * *

**Six Months Before Ruin**

 

The first time Akechi saw the Phantom Thieves in person, it had been entirely by accident. He'd only entered Madarame's palace on orders given to him born of sheer curiosity — to see what secrets he had that might be useful to Shido and just how much money he was willing to spend to keep them all safe. Akechi couldn't help but roll his eyes at jobs like this. Seeking out fresh blood for blackmail and extortion seemed so pointless and redundant when Shido's list of contracts was already so damn long, but he'd learned years ago that orders were orders, and he wasn't ready to disobey just yet.

Much to his surprise, though, he wasn't alone in this place. He'd hid behind a corner as soon as he spotted them and watched curiously as they battled their way through a group of Shadows. Judging from the way they fought, they were all still novices, likely only newly awakened to their powers, but something in particular caught Akechi's eye.

The tall one in black — "Joker," the others called him — had a very unique but very familiar fighting style. He cycled through different personas as he fought, while the other three seemed limited to only one. A sour, cynical scowl tugged at the edge of Akechi's lips as unpleasant memories of his conversations with Igor floated to the forefront of his mind. _The power of the wild card is not one granted lightly._ What an absolute load of shit — just more lies fed to him by another old man who wanted to use him for something. Another person in a position of power who thought he was an idiot.

It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. Akechi had long since abandoned any interest he'd once had in his destiny. It'd been over two years, and nothing had ever come of it. While Igor insisted it was because he was doing his job extraordinarily well, Akechi held his doubts. It felt so bad to be right. He only used the services of the Velvet Room sparingly these days, and only ever to power up Loki. Joker seemed to have a different way of going about things, preferring quantity over quality, but the reality of the situation maintained: Joker had access to the Velvet Room.

So much for preventing Ruin. So much for Akechi being special. If only his main goal hadn't become solely focused on the destruction of Masayoshi Shido, Akechi might have been offended, but he was playing the exact same game as everyone else in this situation. He knew how to use people, too.

 

* * *

**Two Months Before Ruin**

 

It was a little past eleven at night by the time Akechi finally made it out of the TV studio. Typically, they were just get in-get out affairs, with little keeping him after a show. Not tonight. The host decided that she wanted to keep him late and grill him in a more pointed way about his beliefs concerning the Phantom Thieves off-camera. Honestly, he probably should have seen it coming. His public statements on the matter had been so all over the place lately that it was only natural that the host would want to make sure she wasn't being set up in all of this.

She wasn't. At least, not on purpose. The setup was intended for someone else entirely.

Akechi rubbed at his eyes, trying his hardest to stave off an oncoming stress headache, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Almost instinctively, his heart skipped a beat. He immediately chastised himself for it, though the part of his brain that still somehow found it manageable to garner sympathy for himself told him that it wasn't his fault. After all, it was only natural for him to have developed a kind of Pavlovian response to his phone going off, considering what usually followed.

Steeling himself, he stopped walking and leaned against the side of the nearest building as he pulled out his phone. Much to his surprise, it didn't hold a message from Shido. Were he less exhausted, Akechi might have even smiled in relief at the name "Akira Kurusu" staring at him through the backlight of the screen.

 **[Kurusu]** You around/awake?  
**[Akechi]** I just left the TV station. Heading for the subway now.  
**[Akechi]** Did you need something?  
**[Kurusu]** The subway to Yongen-Jaya, right?  
**[Akechi]** Are you feeling lonely, Akira?  
**[Kurusu]** I miss your musk.

Despite himself, Akechi barked out a laugh at that. It was nothing short of amazing how his banter with Akira had evolved over the last few months. What had started as innocent flirting eventually became more and more shameless, until they both eventually reached a point where Akechi couldn't tell whether some of the shit they said to each other was self-deprecating or just playful ribbing at the other's expense. Sometimes, it was both.

Unfortunately, Akira only ever texted him for one specific reason — not that Akechi was about to complain. He was the one who'd set up those boundaries, himself. Still, he felt a pang of regret at not being able to jump at Akira's summons. But only a _pang_.

 **[Akechi]** Between class, police business, and my TV spot tonight, I've been working for over twelve hours straight. I may not be the most fun play date tonight.  
**[Kurusu]** I'll take the lead, then.  
**[Akechi]** Don't insult me.  
**[Akechi]** Or yourself, for that matter.  
**[Kurusu]** As if.  
**[Kurusu]** You might like it.  
**[Akechi]** Do you have evidence to support such a claim?  
**[Kurusu]** Sure do.  
**[Akechi]** Oh?  
**[Kurusu]** You rolled over like a bitch on TV tonight. Thought you might extend the courtesy.

A bit of a sour expression twisted itself across Akechi's features. The statement he'd made tonight was mostly in defense of the Phantom Thieves — declaring them not to be murderers, even though he'd spent their entire rise to popularity speaking out against them. While he'd gone into the interview knowing that it would come across strangely, he honestly hadn't expected _this_ to be the reaction.

Then again, Akira had his own special little way of interpreting the world around him and expressing himself accordingly. Though he may have thought of Akechi's statement as selling out, it was possible that the general public didn't — and Akira wasn't immune to outside influence. What mattered was what the Phantom Thieves as a whole and their silly "Phandom" thought of Akechi's statement; not what Akira's kneejerk reaction to it was.

Regardless of whether he was spot-on correct or not.

 **[Akechi]** Charming.  
**[Akechi]** I, frankly, am amazed that you haven't been able to land a single real date since arriving in Tokyo.  
**[Akechi]** Though I'm not sure what that says about me.  
**[Kurusu]** Seriously though.  
**[Kurusu]** Those people treat you like their little painted whore.  
**[Akechi]** Are you jealous, Akira-kun?  
**[Kurusu]** Stop.  
**[Kurusu]** I'm serious.  
**[Kurusu]** I worry about you.

As soon as the words appeared on his screen, Akechi felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His heart leaped into his throat as nuclear air sirens blasted in the back of his head. Was he onto him? Could Akira somehow know that this was all a ruse set up by Shido — did he know that Akechi was being used? What other reason would he have to be worried?

He didn't know how to process the possibility. Panic touched at the back of his eyes, threatening to blind him. Frantically, breathlessly, he typed out the only response he could think of to shut down this conversation before it went any deeper.

 **[Akechi]** I'm not your boyfriend, Akira. Don't forget what this is.  
**[Kurusu]** Does that mean I can't worry?

 _Yes, you idiot,_ Akechi thought to himself almost immediately. _You being worried and meddling means we both die, and Shido gets away scot-free._

Of course, he couldn't just come out and say that. He took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. Pushing back any harder would make him seem even more suspicious than he likely already was. What would an innocent party say in a situation like this? _Think, Goro, think..._

 **[Akechi]** No. You're probably right to be worried.  
**[Akechi]** I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.  
**[Kurusu]** Right.  
**[Kurusu]** So come over. Sojiro's gone home for the night.  
**[Kurusu]** If you don't want to talk about it, cool. But still come over.  
**[Kurusu]** Even if you're tired.

That gave him pause. Just like anyone else, Akira had his weaker moments where he came off as downright _needy_ , but never like this. Usually, all Akechi had to do was say, "Not tonight," and that would be the end of it. Tonight, it seemed, Akira wasn't going to take that as an answer. But if he accepted that neither fucking nor talking about Akechi's stress levels were in the cards for them tonight, then what did he want?

 **[Akechi]** Is something bothering you?  
**[Kurusu]** Honestly?  
**[Kurusu]** I'm a little freaked out over what happened to Kunikazu Okumura.  
**[Akechi]** I see.  
**[Akechi]** Same, if I'm being perfectly honest with myself.  
**[Akechi]** That was the first time I'd ever seen something like that happen in the moment. Usually, I just arrive after the fact to inspect the bodies.  
**[Kurusu]** Yeah…  
**[Akechi]** Leave the door unlocked. I'll be there soon.

With that, Akechi exited out of his messaging app and shoved his phone back into his pocket, sighing as he did so. Those last few texts he sent were the most honest he'd been with anyone in quite some time. Akira always had a way of bringing that out of him, and it was infuriating on a level that Akechi couldn't even begin to comprehend.

He really _hadn't_ seen a mental shutdown occur like that in real time before. For the last two and a half years, he'd been fully aware of what he was doing to people, but seeing _how_ it happened — how they suffered — was uncharted territory for him. It was far more gruesome and painful than he ever imagined it would've been, especially since he mercifully killed Shadows with a quick bullet to the head while in the Metaverse.

_A quick bullet to the head…_

That tiny, pesky voice at the back of his skull piped up again. No matter how far down the rabbit hole he went, no matter how high he stacked his body count, no matter how many times he decidedly ignored his moral compass in pursuit of his ultimate goal, his annoying conscience refused to give up and die. Gnawings of guilt tugged at his heartstrings, threatening to lead him towards the subway rails and throw him across.

Before long, it would be Akira staring up at him from the other end of the barrel. Of all of the stupid, reckless teenage boys in Tokyo, the leader of the Phantom Thieves just _had_ to be the one that Akechi decided to start sleeping with. Worse yet was just how _exciting_ he found it to be in spite of his underlying guilt. It'd turned their little trysts into something out of a romantic thriller novel, filled with secrets, lies, betrayal, all shrouded behind a smoky veil of hot sex. Just the thought of it lit a fire behind his eyes.

Maybe he wasn't too tired to try something new tonight, after all. God, what the hell had happened to him over these last two years?

Shaking his head, he took those thoughts and feelings, and he smothered them. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He would go and get his dick wet tonight, and he could work out the rest of it years later in therapy.

 

* * *

**Two Months Before Ruin — Same Night**

 

The first time they'd kissed, it'd been so surprising and unscripted that Akechi at first thought it was an accident. He'd stayed past closing at Leblanc one night just to finish his final cup of coffee. When he went to leave, Akira followed in order to lock the door behind him. It had been an innocent enough interaction. As Akechi made to grab the handle, however, he turned back around again — he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was to make sure that Akira was still behind him; maybe it was to bid him one final farewell before leaving; maybe he was just paranoid about having another human being so close to his back. Whatever the case was, it caused the moment to hang in the air between them, until they eventually fell into one another, drawn to the other like magnets.

What was the saying? Opposites attract.

The first time they'd fucked, it'd been decidedly less incidental. Akechi had avoided Leblanc for about a week, trying to make sense of that kiss — trying his hardest, and failing, to convince himself that he hadn't enjoyed it. Even back then, he'd already had his suspicions about Akira and Joker, and he didn't need to complicate things with some stupid schoolboy crush. By the time he finally wandered back to the cafe, he was determined to get closure, one way or the other. Either it was nothing, and Akira would confirm for him as such — or it was _something_ , and Akechi just needed to get it out of his system and be done with it.

It wasn't nothing, and it still wasn't out of his system.

Akira was a bad habit that Akechi just couldn't kick. He was greedy with the Phantom Thief's affections; he was selfish with them as though they were some precious treasure that he was determined not to share. At least once a week, Akira was _his_. Akira's attention, Akira's voice, Akira's breath, Akira's touch, Akira's kisses — they all belonged to _him_. No one else. Only Akechi.

There was an addictive danger to being wanted like this — to being appreciated and _needed_ the way that Akira needed him — especially considering the precarious situation they were in regarding both the rule of law under Shido's authority and the chaotic lawlessness of the Metaverse. It was all that Akechi could do to keep a single barrier left between them, as flimsy and useless as it seemed at times. This was just sex. Nothing more. They weren't dating; this wasn't love. It was just for both of them to get off and go on their respective ways.

It was hard to believe that now, with the way that Akira pressed his lips against the back of Akechi's jaw between hot, gusting breaths. The sheer intimacy of it made Akechi's head spin. Every one of Akira's movements was slow, deliberate, and carefully crafted as to force as much physical contact as possible as he slowly rolled his hips against Akechi's again and again. Akechi closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the back of Akira's scalp, trying his hardest to coax him into something a little faster, a little rougher, a little more demanding. Akira's response was a low, throaty chuckle and a gentle nip at the lobe of Akechi's ear.

"None of that," Akira whispered to him. "You're mine. Tonight, we play by my rules."

 _You're mine._ The very sound of it sent a chill down Akechi's spine, and he let up on his rough tugging almost immediately. As loathe as he was to admit it, Akira had been right — this was the first time since they'd started this little charade some months ago that the Phantom Thief found himself on top, and Akechi found himself loving it. There was something incredibly cathartic about actually giving his consent to being handled and controlled by someone else, as opposed to everyone else who seemed to just take advantage of him regardless. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was dimly aware of the fact that this was the closest he'd ever been in his life to "making love." 

In the rare windows where Akira spoke or emoted, he seemed to be fully committed to the playacting he used as Joker. His actual practice and touches, however, betrayed the fact that the real Akira Kurusu was the one calling the shots. It was a strange balance between a striking dichotomy that Akechi found mesmerizing, and he had to wonder if Akira ever thought the same thing about him when he was in control — if Akechi himself ever let his mask slip, betraying all of the dark misery that he usually held locked up tight behind his normally polite exterior.

At the same time, though, it was _infuriating_ — infuriating the way that Akira handled him with such care — infuriating the way that Akira treated him like he was some delicate thing to hold and pamper and preserve. The Phantom Thief threaded his fingers through Akechi's hair and dragged his lips across his unknown rival's, too winded to properly seal them down into a kiss.

By the time they both came and Akira rolled off of him and onto his back, Akechi was feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed. He was soaked head to toe in sweat — both his own and Akira's — accompanied by trails of saliva that Akira had left behind, as well as his own release splattered across his chest and stomach. Panting and dizzy, he reached a hand up and buried his fingers in his own damp scalp, pushing his bangs away from his face.

He glanced over at Akira, who at some point had sat up again and was now busy trying to conceal his recently used condom in a tissue so that it wouldn't be found accidentally in the trash. Akechi watched the way the muscles in his hands moved beneath his skin as he worked — admired the way his brows furrowed and his eyes focused on his goal. Even with something as simple as this, he took the utmost care.

It was odd, then, the way that watching him made the distance between them feel larger. Now that they were done for the night and Akira would no longer be handling _him_ with such care, Akechi felt loathe to be without that kind of dedication or affection.

That was the way it was supposed to be, though. Right? Those were the boundaries that he set up. And in another month, he would be without those gentle touches and passionate kisses forever. The police would lock those lips and hands away into a freezer at the morgue, and Akechi would never feel their warm comfort ever again.

His tears caught him by surprise.

The first escaped the corner of his eye without his noticing, but when the second and third came to the surface, he bolted upright in bed and hastily rubbed at his face. A cold fear ran through him, shaking him by the shoulders as he became keenly aware of Akira's presence beside him. He was mortified — and it only grew worse when he realized that he couldn't stop.

"What's wrong?" Akira asked, his voice coated with worry.

" _Damn it_ ," Akechi hissed. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

It was a strange type of crying that only brought tears; they remained unaccompanied by sobs or shallow breaths, leaving Akechi to wonder what the fucking point of it was. This was so stupid — he _felt_ stupid for doing it — and being unable to stop hurt his pride worse than anything else he could have possibly been feeling in that moment. Frustrated, he slammed both of his fists down against the mattress and made a move to leave the bed entirely —

"Hey —"

— only to be stopped by Akira. First with a hand on Akechi's arm, but when he broke free of that, Akira moved to wrap both of his arms around his waist from behind, unbothered by the mess that still lingered, and pulled him in close. The base of Akechi's skull grew hot with a sudden burst of anger. Even in spite of everything that'd just happened between them, Akira's sudden closeness and affection seemed as pity to Akechi's eyes, and his arms felt like a prison meant to trap him inside of his own humiliation.

 _How dare he._ The words passed through his thoughts without his permission. This was a clear breach of their pre-set boundaries: no public acknowledgement, no dates, no feelings — and _God_ did this make Akechi _feel._ He wanted to scream — wanted to break free, turn around, slug Akira in the face, and tell him in painstaking detail who, exactly, the Phantom Thief was trying to comfort in this moment. He wanted to see Akira's heart break across his face; wanted to watch the hurt gather behind his eyes; wanted Akira to look at him with all of the confusion and betrayal of a beloved pet who'd just been struck by their master. He wanted Akira to feel what Akechi had spent his entire life repressing. Maybe _then_ he would understand, because words would never be enough.

 _How dare he. How dare he. How dare he._ How dare Akira, the man with ultimate freedom in his life and the honest adoration of those around him, mock him with a phony silent promise of safety and trust. Akechi didn't even know what that was anymore.

"How can you —" he started before he was cut off by a pitiful sob. The dam finally broke.

Akira _shh_ -ed him softly and pressed a kiss against Akechi's shoulder that was entirely too sweet for his liking. Suddenly, Akechi forgot what the second half of his question was even meant to be. The only comfort he got was knowing that Akira couldn't see his face as he sat there naked and messy in his bed, shoulders shaking and chest heaving, as he pathetically cried like a small child.

A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind: Shido's orders; Akira's tenderness; the sight of Okumura choking on his own blood; Igor's eerie, cryptic smile after each and every murder…

Strangely enough, that was the one that lingered. The man holding Akechi from behind was another wild card — another person pulled into destiny, likely as an insurance policy should Akechi fail in his mission. Igor could probably see that he was breaking under the stress in a more profound way now than he ever had as a kid, even leading up to and during his attempted suicide. If Akechi hesitated — if he let Akira go free after his inevitable arrest because he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger — Shido would kill him. It would be left to Akira and the rest of the Phantom Thieves to finish what he'd started. They would take what was rightfully his and prevent the world from falling into Ruin in the process. He couldn't stand it.

It was funny how Akechi had never given it much thought until it was staring him in the face. _Destiny_. He thought he'd abandoned it a long time ago. Maybe it didn't matter how far he tried to run from it. It was always meant to catch up to him eventually.

"Akira," Akechi said slowly once he'd caught his breath. His voice and throat were both raw. "Let me ask you something."

"Anything," Akira said to him softly.

"If you had to decide," he said, "between saving the world or saving the person you cared about most, which would you choose?"

Akira hesitated, and Akechi could feel him tense. The Phantom Thief pressed his lips against Akechi's shoulder again as he thought, and every second that passed in silence dragged on for ten minutes too long.

It was a loaded question, of course, and one that Akira wouldn't consider from the same angle that Akechi did. The question itself omitted the reality that the world would be saved regardless. The difference would be that Akechi himself wouldn't be the one to do it, but he couldn't very well explain to Akira that that triumph was the only thing he had left.

Eventually, Akira found his voice.

"How could anyone make a decision like that?" he murmured softly against Akechi's skin.

Akechi shook his head, unable to find the words. It killed him to admit — however vaguely and indirectly — that Akira was the person he cared for most in this life, but some part of him knew it to be true. It'd known for a long time. He wouldn't fool himself into thinking that Akira felt even remotely the same way about him in return — after all, Akira didn't really know him — but damn if these long nights together hadn't taken their toll.

"Is that what you were thinking about when I was fucking you?" Akira asked.

"No," Akechi said bitterly. His voice trembled beneath the cosmic weight on his shoulders. "I wasn't thinking about anything at all."

 

* * *

**One Month Before Ruin**

 

As he stepped out of his shoes and locked his apartment door, Akechi felt nothing. He felt nothing as he walked through the darkness of his home, never once stopping to turn on the light. He felt nothing as he disrobed, nothing as he stepped into the shower, and nothing as the water beat down his back and refused to wash the stench of gunpowder off of him.

Nothing. The same amount of nothing that he'd felt when he pulled the trigger on Akira and watched him collapse, lifeless, onto the folding table in the interrogation room.

That should have been alarming. It wasn't. Nothingness was an old friend to Akechi. He was vaguely aware that this was exactly the way he'd felt just before he tried to take his own life two years ago. Maybe it was only fitting that it carried over to him taking Akira's. After all, Akira was in so many ways just like the little boy that Akechi had left behind in the Velvet Room that day.

_I've become a monster…_

Even that thought wasn't enough to make him feel anything about what he'd done. Idly, his memories drifted back to that terrifying night last month in Akira's bed. Akechi had been _so_ distraught by the idea of killing him then that he'd actually cried about it. How odd that the prospect of doing it had been so much worse than carrying out the actual act itself.

It wasn't until Akechi stepped out of the shower, finished his nightly routine, and tried to settle down for sleep that it finally sank in. He froze halfway through peeling his blankets back in order to crawl into bed. Something cold and terrible crept through him, snaking around each and every organ in his body, until it finally got stuck at the bottom of his throat. When he gathered the strength to move again, he looked down only to find that his hands were shaking. Choking out a shallow breath, he dropped what he was doing and stumbled backwards.

Horror. That's what that feeling was. He saw streaks of red behind his eyelids every time he blinked, always in the same pattern. Akira's blood trailing down the sides of his face. Akira's blood splattered against the tabletop. _Akira's blood._ It wasn't a Shadow in the Metaverse that Akechi had killed. It was a _person._ It was Akira.

Akechi struggled to exhale as he ran both of his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face as the world seemed to spin out of control around him. Against his will, his body recalled the sensation of Akira's lips pressed insistently against his own. The feeling of Akira's breath rolling across the side of his neck. The warmth of Akira's touch along the bare skin of his back. The sound of Akira's voice. The sight of Akira's eyes — and the heat of the flames that perpetually burned behind them. Akechi was forced to recall that every one of those little things had belonged to _him_ just a few short hours ago. He'd coveted them more fiercely than anything — more than his desire to succeed, and more than any slow-burn revenge plot against a man who had no right to be called his father.

Now, they would never be his again. He'd realized too late where his priorities were, and there was no way to un-pull the trigger now. Akechi heard himself screaming as he pivoted on his feet and drove his fist through the wall beside his bed.

He didn't sleep that night. Somewhere between the bursts of anger, the fits of laughter spurned on by disbelief, and the obscenities he shouted into the empty rooms of his apartment, he swore that it was over. He was done killing. Done with letting other people use him. Done with destiny.

_Never again._

As sunlight crept through his blinds, his phone vibrated softly on his dresser. He padded over to it suspiciously, swallowing hard in an attempt to get control over himself before he answered.

The screen displayed an anonymous caller. Akechi knew better. The familiar feeling of nothingness crept back in.

Masayoshi Shido.

_Well, maybe one last time..._

 

* * *

**Two Weeks Before Ruin**

 

Akechi squeezed the trigger, and the world around him disappeared.

Knocked off balance, he immediately fell to his knees, though he suspected that he would have done so regardless due to the shape he was in. Was this the end? Had he been shot? Was he dying? He coughed wetly, hacking up blood as his vision blurred and the room spun.

"Stand up straight, soldier!" Caroline's voice pierced through the fog in Akechi's head.

"Once again, our Master has saved you from certain death," Justine said. "You should be grateful."

Even if he'd wanted to stand up straight, to shout back at them, to beg for death — he couldn't. Akechi collapsed onto the floor of the Velvet Room, staring up helplessly at Igor through his broken visor. He didn't care anymore. Whether Igor tossed him back into reality or not, it didn't matter. Unlike last time, he didn't need convincing about what he should do — and he certainly wasn't going to take advice from any of the three people present. His heart was already set. Either he would die as intended, or he would go back to reality, aid the Phantom Thieves, and start making decisions on his own terms for once in his goddamn life.

"It seems your efforts to maintain order have failed," Igor said. "The forces of chaos have overwhelmed you. The world will surely fall into Ruin."

Forces of chaos? Was that what he was calling Akira and the rest of the Phantom Thieves? After giving them access to the Velvet Room?

It finally clicked into place. Cops and robbers. Chaos and order. Black and white. At the center of it all, Ruin. The world was going to fall no matter what he or Akira did. This sick bastard just wanted one last exciting show to watch before it all burned down.

Unable to move, barely able to speak, Akechi did the only thing he could: he laughed. It was weak and tinged with the quiet gurgle of blood that'd started to pool at the back of his throat, but he couldn't stop himself. He was wracked with a manic sense of satisfaction — of having cracked the code at the zero hour, and of being lucky enough to get himself killed before he was forced to helplessly watch the world crumble.

"What are you laughing at?" Caroline demanded, sounding horrified.

"Does the idea of Ruin amuse you, soldier?" Justine scoffed.

He only laughed harder — until he couldn't anymore. His voice was overtaken by more hacking coughs, followed by more blood that sprayed from his mouth and stained the concrete floor beneath him.

"That's what you get!" Caroline declared. "You did this to yourself!"

"I did," Akechi croaked, still grinning wildly. "And I'd do it again, too. And again. And again. And again. Ruin… I can't wait."

He could only manage a chuckle this time, weak and fleeting, as the twins stared down at him with baffled looks on their faces.

"I'll see you all in hell."

The world around him went black.

 

* * *

**Day of Ruin**

 

It was with grim understanding that Akechi accepted the fact that he was probably dead.

 

* * *

**Five Years After Ruin**

 

Staring into what he assumed was the only mirror in the labyrinthian depths beyond the Velvet Room, Akechi almost didn't recognize himself as he tied his hair back into a tight, low-hanging tail. It was strange to think that he'd aged, considering how many other of his biological functions had been shut off, but he had. His face was leaner now; his jaw was more prominent; his eyes —

Swallowing back a sigh, Akechi tore his attention away from his own eyes. Though they, too, showed signs of his age, he would never be used to the sight of them. They had gone from brown to an unnatural yellow, just like a Shadow's would be, and to think of the implications of that made him shiver. The very nature of his existence was an enigma to him anymore. He dwelled in some nebulous twilight realm between life and death — unable to return to reality, but also unable to die. Minutes felt like years, years felt like seconds, and as the very concept of time grew more and more meaningless, so did Akechi's grasp on his own humanity.

He would likely never be allowed to leave this place.

Igor — the  _ real  _ Igor, that was — had made some vague insinuation otherwise, as though Akechi's service in the Velvet Room was more of a cosmic prison sentence with a set, definitive end date, but Akechi couldn't find it within himself to trust such a thing or even much care to. What would be waiting for him on the other side, anyway?  _ Real  _ prison? A lifetime of shunning and mockery from the public? Multiple people who likely wanted to see him dead? What would be the point?

"I believe congratulations are in order," Lavenza's voice cut through his reverie, shaking him back into the moment, "for the newest full-fledged attendant of the Velvet Room."

Akechi turned to look at her, offering a tiny smile as he did. Lavenza gave him a deep bow, hands clasped before her, and not a single bit of it seemed insincere. He would have found it humbling, were he able to conjure any sort of emotion that wasn't muted and stifled even in the best of circumstances.

"Thank you, Lavenza," he said honestly — as honestly as he could manage, anyway.

"You look very handsome in your uniform," Lavenza continued as she re-straightened her posture.

"And you're looking exceptionally lovely, as always," he said.

He offered her a bow of his own — not quite as deep or respectful as the one she'd given him, but no less earnest in its intention. She smiled at him warmly as he rose back to stand at his full height, and there was a fondness in her eyes that he hadn't yet seen in all of his time here.

"I must admit to the doubt that lingered in my heart when our Master offered you this opportunity," she said, "but I'm happy to see that I was wrong. You've worked very hard to get here, and you've exceeded all of my expectations."

"I had an amazing teacher," he said around a smile. "The credit for my achievements lies solely with her, wouldn't you say?"

"I would not," she said, giving him a pointed look. "Your attempt at humility is appreciated, but I'm afraid its insincerity is beneath you."

Akechi hesitated. In truth, he hadn't really meant much by his remark; he'd merely wanted to return her compliment with one of his own. It was what he understood to be polite conversation — though, he supposed there were times that Lavenza didn't care much for it. It was probably the part of her that had become Caroline all those years ago. As sweet as Lavenza could be, she was also tough and no-nonsense by nature. It was difficult for him to read her a lot of the time, especially since so much of his own personality had been manufactured to be the ultimate people-pleaser. As such, most of their interactions were heavily one-sided in her favor; her bullshit detector was fine-tuned to an almost scary degree, and Akechi found himself unable to craft responses that caught her approval.

"Forgive me," he said finally. He left it at that.

She looked off to the side then, a thoughtful expression spread across her features and a look in her eyes that reflected a distant sadness. He cocked his head to the side just slightly as he studied her, wondering what could've sparked such a sudden change in her demeanor.

"My memories of my time split in two are still scattered and vague at best," she said, "but I do still harbor them. One that stands out in particular is that of a fiery young boy, fearless in his honesty, who was so determined to do the right thing that he tried to take his own life. I look now at the man he's become, and a sadness wells up within me with such intensity as I have never known. Admittedly, I do blame myself. Your tireless work towards your atonement is inspiring, but you will never be free from this place until you regain all that you have lost — in part due to my own actions. I should be the one asking for your forgiveness."

Her words sank like a rock to the pit of his stomach. All this time, and Akechi had had no idea that Lavenza felt this way. They'd never talked about the past during his training; it always seemed irrelevant in light of the training's purpose. He took a moment to ruminate on them now, struggling to remember how his fifteen-year-old self would have approached this situation. His ability to recall was frightfully lacking, as though his younger self had been nothing more than a dream long forgotten.

There was something else there, though. Something more recent, more familiar. A flash of a black and white mask accompanied by a cocksure, sideways smile. On more than one occasion, Akechi had thought of Akira as the grown version of the boy he'd once been.

He dropped to a knee in order to get eye level with her and gingerly took one of her hands in his own.

"Then let me speak honestly," he said.

She turned her head to look at him then. Her silent permission was written clearly on her face.

"The part of you that became Caroline," he told her, speaking slowly as to clearly convey each and every word, "was a total bitch, and I hated her. I used to fantasize about snapping her neck, because her coldness reflected the worst parts of myself. I still see her in you from time to time, and I hate you for it every time it happens."

He covered the back of her hand with his remaining free one, never once breaking eye contact with her. A smile spread across his lips, and for once it was genuine — even a little playful.

"And I accept your apology," he finished.

Lavenza stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, but she recovered quickly enough and reacted in a way that shocked him: she laughed. It was a loud, crisp laugh — one that seemed to bubble up from the center of her chest in an expression that was so warm and real that, for a second, Akechi could have sworn she was a regular human child. He released his hold on her hand and stood up, waiting for her fit to die down.

"Thank you, Goro," she said eventually, her eyes still twinkling with amusement and gratitude. "I much prefer you in your honest state. I imagine our newest guest will, as well. Your redemption may be closer at hand than you realize."

"Our newest guest?" Akechi parroted back at her, furrowing his brow. He'd almost forgotten. "That's right. I'm to meet with our Master as soon as I'm suited up. I'll be assisting him in cultivating the potential of the next generation wild card."

"Then you mustn't keep him waiting," Lavenza nodded.

Akechi returned the nod and took off past her without so much as a goodbye; they could finish this conversation later. He turned a corner and slipped between the blue velvet curtains as soon as he saw a break between them, and he instantly found himself standing before Igor's desk. He greeted his Master with a low bow, as respectfully as he could manage.

"Just in time," Igor said as a way of greeting. "Does your uniform fit to your liking?"

"Like a glove," Akechi said with a nod.

His Velvet Room attendant's uniform looked almost identical to his Prince Crow outfit, with a few minor changes. The whites and reds of it had been changed to shades of blue and black, respectively; the garish A's emblazoned on the details had been flipped to V's to signify the Velvet Room; the tassels at his shoulders had been removed entirely; the ensemble lacked gloves. Bare hands weren't required for persona fusion, but they allowed a certain precision that mitigated the chance of mistakes — something that Akechi personally found to be essential, as inexperienced as he was compared to some of the others.

"Wonderful," Igor said. "The Velvet Room has yet to take shape until the arrival of our guest. I will summon her at the stroke of midnight. You may take the remaining time until then to review all that you have learned thusfar."

Akechi's ears perked up at the word _her_. So, the next wild card to be burdened with responsibility after himself and Akira would be a woman. The very idea of it sent an unexpected wave of excitement and optimism through him. In his quietest moments, Akechi often wondered how Yaldabaoth's plan would have worked out had the two wild cards under his thumb been female instead of two idiot teenage boys, hopped up on testosterone, who seemed to see everything in life as a game — including the potential end of the world.

"I'm excited to meet her," he said.

Igor let out a brief chuckle. 

"As am I," he agreed. He closed his eyes then and paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. "A fresh wild card with the assistance of an attendant who once walked in her shoes… Such a thing is unprecedented. Your advice and guidance may be invaluable."

"If nothing else, I'll be able to tell her exactly what  _ not  _ to do," Akechi said, suddenly feeling awkward.

Igor opened his eyes and regarded him for a moment, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"The way in which your bond with her develops will be fascinating to watch, indeed," he said.

For a moment, Akechi forgot to breathe. His bond with her — not her bond with him. He swallowed nervously as he searched for answers in Igor's face, but he came up with none.

Whose benefit was this arrangement truly meant for?

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this fic was an attempt to answer a few questions about the story that were bugging me. How did Akechi approach his "mission" before he became a murderer? How did he come to justify to himself that murder was a viable path to take? What did Yaldabaoth whisper in his ear throughout his journey? Why does he only have two personas when he could honestly have as many as he wanted to? How did Akechi compartmentalize his very obvious affection for Akira while simultaneously going through with his plans? What did he think about Akira being a fellow wild card? Would the real Igor accept Akechi's death as a just conclusion to his story, knowing all that'd conspired behind the scenes to lead him there? And last but not least: Velvet Room Attendant Akechi would be FUCKING SEXY, wouldn't he? (Also, please give us a female protag in P6, Atlus. pls.)
> 
> I hope this story scratched that itch for you guys, too. Thanks for reading! As always, constructive criticism is welcome.


End file.
